


Piece by Piece

by enthugger



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Forehead Touching, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Minor Injuries, Poetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 02:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17951555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthugger/pseuds/enthugger
Summary: “I’m not drunk enough for this,” are the first words out of Grantaire’s mouth. It’s an understatement; he’s not drunk at all. It’s just that Enjolras is standing on his doorstep, looking rough around the edges and exhausted in a way that Grantaire never wants to see again.He regrets the words as soon as he says them, as soon as Enjolras looks up at him with a desperate look that Grantaire knows all too well, like he’s drowning and Grantaire is the only thing left for him to hold onto.“Well, come on.” He says. “If you’re a wanted criminal now you probably shouldn’t be standing in the doorway.”





	Piece by Piece

**Author's Note:**

> Plot? What plot? There are only angsty slice of life kisses here. Written for a friend, with prompts “Would you Just hold still?” and “I’m not drunk enough for this."

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” are the first words out of Grantaire’s mouth. It’s an understatement; he’s not drunk at all. It’s just that Enjolras is standing on his doorstep, looking rough around the edges and exhausted in a way that Grantaire never wants to see again.

He regrets the words as soon as he says them, as soon as Enjolras looks up at him with a desperate look that Grantaire knows all too well, like he’s drowning and Grantaire is the only thing left for him to hold onto.

“Well, come on.” He says. “If you’re a wanted criminal now you probably shouldn’t be standing in the doorway.”

Enjolras doesn’t move, barely reacts. Not that Grantaire fully expects him to. He doesn’t seem willing to do very much on his own but stare. He just stands there, bruised and soft and shaking so slightly it almost isn’t noticeable.

Grantaire swallows. He isn’t equipped for this, emotionally or physically: to deal with the shock, the subsequent breakdown, and potential legal fallout that probably comes along with bringing Enjolras into his flat. He looks back up to meet Enjolras’s gaze; he has a small cut on one temple and dark circles like bruises under his eyes that make Grantaire wonder exactly how long he’s been awake for and he can’t help himself.

He reaches out a hand. “Come on, you can’t stand there all night.”

After a moment, Enjolras takes it, gently threading their fingers together in a way that makes Grantaire’s stomach jolt. He squeezes back, and tugs Enjolras inside before he can think better of it, reaching awkwardly around his shoulder to pull the door closed behind him.

Enjolras is quiet as he leads him down the short hallway and into the kitchen. He stands, silently hunched into himself when Grantaire finally lets go of him. He wonders vaguely if he has any first aid supplies, considers texting Joly for help, thinks better of it.

Not knowing what else to do, he reaches for Enjolras’s hand again, who lets him take it without comment and watches as Grantaire turns it over, noting bitten cuticles, the bruised skin of his knuckles. He pushes up Enjolras’s sleeve slightly to reveal deep red welts on his thin wrists, small scrapes up his arms.

He lets out a breath he hasn’t realized he was holding.

“What happened?”

“Handcuffs.” Enjolras says softly. His voice is surprisingly even, like he’s commenting on the weather. Like he’s not on the verge of breaking in a way that Grantaire doesn’t know how to fix, like Grantaire isn’t sure he can hold together no matter how hard he tries. “I tried to get out of them,” Enjolras continues, looking away. “It didn’t work.”

Grantaire tightens his grip on Enjolras’s hand, involuntarily trying to hold him closer, as if that could somehow protect him. Enjolras steps towards him but gives a quiet hiss of pain when Grantaire’s fingers graze over his wrist.

“Sorry.” Grantaire lets go immediately, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just can’t believe they did that to you. And they let you all go? “

He stops when Enjolras grabs his hand again. They’re much closer than he realized. When he looks up, he can see every one of Enjolras’s eyelashes, his eyes too-bright and far away beneath them, and Grantaire wants nothing more than to reach out and stop him from shaking.

Slowly, he reaches towards the scratch on Enjolras’s temple, touching it gently with one finger. He starts to ask something like, “Is this ok?” or “Are you sure you don’t have a concussion?” or “Why did you come here?” But before he can get the words out, Enjolras cuts him off with a question of his own.

“Can I kiss you?”

Grantaire blinks, his hand frozen in place on the side of Enjolras’s head as Enjolras’s fingers come up to curl around his wrist.

“Yes. I mean, absolutely. Enjolras, why - ” He stops talking as Enjolras’s lips find his. They are cool and chapped and his breaths are soft against Grantaire’s cheek and Grantaire thinks this might be the most confusing day of his life. He feels Enjolras’s teeth graze his bottom lip and ignores the way it makes his breath catch in his throat as he pulls back slightly.

“Wait. You have no idea how much I want this.” He cups his hand more securely around the back of Enjolras’s head. “But not right now. I don’t want you to do this just because you’re upset.”

Enjolras nods once in something like agreement before tilting his head forward to rest his forehead against Grantaire’s with a small choked noise. Grantaire forces himself to relax, despite the way his heart is pounding, taking a deep breath in the hopes that Enjolras will feel it in their proximity and follow suit.

He runs fingers through the tangles in Enjolras’s hair, watching as his eyes drift shut and his trembling stills slightly.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, finally. It’s nowhere near an adequate description for the way he wants to scream at Enjolras that he can’t give up yet, to kiss every inch of him until he remembers he’s worth loving, hold him against his chest and shield him from every horror in the world that he insists on fighting. Mostly, he just wants to see him smile. He realizes he’s never told Enjolras how much he loves his smile: that small, amused tilt of his mouth and the way his eyes sparkle when they catch Grantaire’s across the room. The apology doesn’t come close to capturing how that smile softens him in a way he can’t place.

“Grantaire, stop it.” Enjolras’s voice is a soft breath against his cheek. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I can’t – please just hold still for a moment? Can we stay like this?” Enjolras shifts against him, his injured hand slipping out of Grantaire’s and coming up to rest against his chest.

They stand there for a few long moments, Grantaire’s fingers still tangled in Enjolras’s hair as their breaths slow to match. Enjolras’s fingers curl into Grantaire’s shirt, measuring the rise and fall of his chest. And piece by piece, the world falls back into place around them: jagged and wild, but whole.

When Enjolras opens his eyes again, Grantaire is struck by how vibrant they are up close. He pulls Enjolras in closer.

“Oh, hey.” He murmurs, somewhat nonsensically, as if Enjolras has only just appeared in front of him and the hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Enjolras’s mouth as he replies.

“Hi.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always lovely and feel free to hit me up on [tumblr](http://williamvapespeare.tumblr.com)!


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